Sticking It to Him
by Brit-bound
Summary: Empathy is a two-way street - but sometimes that thoroughfare gets clogged in the place where Piers and Kate reside. This one is just for fun. Hope you'll laugh as much reading it as I did writing it.


Piers talks a good game when his Kate confides in him, but he has a few demons of his own to face. And Kate is determined to get to the bottom of the problem.

**Hoping that Shakespeare and Sally Wainwright, wherever they are today, would laugh out loud if they read this, as we all have chortled through the years, thanks to their talent. And hoping Petruchio, dear boy, doesn't mind being the butt of the joke. **

Sticking It to Him

It was breakfast time. He was thinking of tucking in to his. She was thinking of chucking up hers.

It was a typical morning in the Crick household.

"Oh, why not go on and get it over with, my love?" the 16th Earl of Charlbury suggested cheerfully. "Just a finger down your throat to help it along and you'll be right as rain."

"I'd rather put my foot up your …," the Prime Minister began with a green-tinged snarl, but her tossle-haired, stubble-chinned husband wheeled around in his chair and grabbed her from behind while she stood at the kitchen sink. He hauled her into his pajama-clad lap and, pulling her head against his bare shoulder, began to plant loud, smacking kisses against her face, interrupting entirely her train of thought.

"Let me go, you lust-starved gargoyle," she protested when her brain settled.

But it was mouthed with rather less forcefulness than the day before, Piers noted. Or the day before that, come to think of it. Which might mean his Kate was growing accustomed to her morning sickness. Or might mean she was distracted by something else entirely.

Thinking about it carefully, while he continued to nibble at her chin and added some cautious finger-exploration of her tender, yet ever more appetizing breasts, the earl realized his beloved had been a trifle reserved since she arrived home last night. Except once they were between the sheets, of course. There she had been most satisfyingly and totally engaged. Pregnancy clearly brought out the best in his wife's already commendable sexual appetite.

"Is there something you want to tell me about, pet? Anything distressing my lovely little preggers Conservative sex kitten?"

Katherine stomped on his foot and came away the worse for wear herself, since she was barefoot and he was wearing hiking boots with prominent grommets.

"What on earth do you have those clodhoppers on for?" she demanded, rubbing the sole of her foot and wishing she had had the foresight to elbow him in the stomach instead. Cheerfulness first thing in the morning was not what she loved best about her exuberant husband, particularly when that pre-workday time slot invariably signaled a quarter hour spent in close communion with the rim of the toilet in the upstairs bathroom before she dared get dressed to face the world.

"They were handy and I had to go out for Peter's fire engine," he shrugged. "He left it in the garden last night and woke up sniffling for it this morning. It's alright though, he's settled down again now. With any luck at all you should be able to bring breakfast back up and get dressed before the boys … Kate, wait!"

But she had already bolted off his lap and headed for the stairs, ominous noises issuing from a mouth clamped resolutely shut for the duration of the familiar route.

In a couple more months, he thought appreciatively, his woman might come up short in the speed and agility department, but these days she was still in rare form when it came to finishing the course from the breakfast table to the upstairs in record time.

"I'm right behind you, sweetheart," he called encouragingly, "I'll get a damp cloth and be there before you know it." He was rewarded with the sound of the bathroom door banging back against the wall as Kate jerked it open and headed for relief.

Morning sickness seemed a trifle more intense this go round, he was thinking. It hadn't been half this bad before. Perhaps that meant they were expecting a girl. Or maybe it was twice as many boys.

"Do you think you could be carrying more than three this time?" he asked with interest while he soaked the rag in cool water and wrung it out. It would be a rare feat, he conceded, but if anyone could pull it off, his Kate could.

That wonder woman's response was a gag and a splash, which he gallantly ignored.

Ten minutes later, when the mother of his children (both arrived and expected) had retched the last wretched morsel into the porcelain receptacle and sat back on her heels with a sigh, he bent over her, gently wiped her lips and handed her a peppermint, already unwrapped and ready for consumption.

"Go ahead. Play Florence Nightingale all you want," she sniffed. "It won't alter my plans to kill you in your sleep."

"I'm trembling in my boots," he laughed. "You've had ample opportunity and you haven't finished me off yet. Although last night was an impressive warm-up." And he waggled his eyebrows.

"I'm waiting for the perfect opportunity," she gritted out. "Sometime when you're in the midst of a peculiarly interesting wet dream or you're smiling in your sleep over some really good memory — some rooftop experience you're recalling. I can always tell, you know. You sort of sigh. And the next time I hear that sound, you're history."

"Promises, promises. You politicians are all alike."

She hauled herself to her feet and turned toward the sink, reaching for her toothbrush. She was scouring her tongue with the bristles when the horde attacked. Six miniature arms fought for a place to hug her and three small faces pressed into her lower body.

"Mummy."

"Mummy."

"Mummy," Piers' boys shouted.

There were compensations to pregnancy, she thought with a foamy smile. Before and after.

Twenty minutes later, Piers was spreading great globs of jam on toast for three at the kitchen table and she was dropping kisses on a precious trio of dark-haired heads before heading out to save the kingdom — or what was left of it.

When she came to the fourth set of curls at the end of the line, the big boy held up a now-sticky index finger and she obligingly licked it clean with the slowest, most sensual tongue-action she could manage. Which was responsible, she was fairly certain, for the enthusiasm with which he picked her up, whirled her around and set her back down with a kiss that guaranteed she'd have to redo her makeup in the hall mirror.

"I'll hold you to that, woman," he leered at her.

"Get your mind out of the gutter — at least until I get home," she grinned and swept out of the kitchen.

Piers puzzled over Kate's attitude throughout the morning, whenever his sons allowed him the space of two uninterrupted minutes to complete a review of her recent behavior. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it might be, but there was something distracting her, he was certain. And it wasn't work-related. That invariably produced rants that had to be forestalled until the boys were sound asleep, lest they pick up language that would get them thrown out of nursery school in short order. This was different.

By the time he had tricked the trio into a nap time they resisted for all they were worth, Mr. Mum knew it was too late to contact their mother directly, but he wanted to put her on notice. It always paid to remind her who was in charge.

"Tim," he barked into the phone. "I want you to give my woman a message for me. As soon as she turns up in the office this afternoon. Tell her this — and be very forceful about it … you can do that, can't you? … after all, her punches tend to lack power when she's pregnant — tell her I am expecting a complete explanation for her behavior as soon as she gets home this evening. There will be no supper, and certainly no dessert, until she comes clean. Have you got that?"

He listened intently while Kate's assistant repeated the message.

"Excellent. Quite excellent. Still secure in you masculinity, are you?" he inquired and hung up before the sputtered response made its way over the line.

As it turned out, he was in the garden with the triplets when their mother returned. He disentangled himself from the bottom of the mini-Rugby pile, brushed leaf bits from his favorite maroon T-shirt and approached her with what he intended to be a ferocious, authoritative glare. Which she sweetly ignored.

"Let me fix you a drink, love, and maybe some of those cheesy new bread sticks you like. I had some delivered to the office just for you," she cooed. "I'll take over with the boys and you can relax for a while. Michael, Rupert, Peter — come along. Let's go inside and read your new 'Builder' book."

"Michael, Rupert, Peter — stay right where you are and go on … go on mauling each other," he ordered, with a wave of his hand in their general direction. And so, true to form, the lot of them headed instead — shrieking — for the swing set at the far end of the garden.

"I'm going to put a stop to that total lack of respect for my authority," he said looking after them with a shake of his head. "I truly am, but first, I'm going to deal with you," he added ominously.

Kate sighed and sank into the padded lawn chair nearest the fountain. "Oh, very well. Deal away."

"Well," he began uncertainly, not quite sure how to handle such unexpected compliance, "I know something is on your mind. And I want to know what it is. No secrets, remember?"

"M-m-m, yes. But it's rather silly, really. I don't know why I've let it bother me. I didn't think you'd notice and I knew I'd get over it."

"And what might 'it' be? Because I definitely did not come on to the blonde mum in the boys' play group. No matter what those silly old cats told you. In fact, I discouraged her in no uncertain terms. I told her no Prime Minister's husband in his right mind would consider a simple Home Secretary's twit," he assured her piously, but with a twinkle in his beautiful green eyes.

She grinned at him, secure in the knowledge that he would never cheat on her. "Actually, they said it was the redhead, but I didn't believe that for a minute. Because everybody knows she considers fellatio immoral."

Damn the woman, she could still make him blush, he thought, and ducked his head, wishing he could throw her down on the green, green grass right then and there.

"Well, now that we have that cleared up, could we get to the heart of the matter," he croaked.

"It's just that I have an appointment at the clinic tomorrow, just a regular check up, but they're going to draw blood for a test to screen for … problems. It's standard," she hastened to assure him. "But I am an older mother, so they want to know if there's anything we need to be prepared for."

He was on his knees beside her in a second. "Is there … do they think …?" He searched her face while his heart seemed to beat in an odd rhythm.

"No, no, my love. It's quite routine. And it's not the test results I'm concerned about," she said stroking his cheek and cursing herself that she'd ever brought it up.

"Then what?"

"I know it's silly, but I have a thing about needles. I'm just dreading the blood test. It makes me feel queasy just thinking about it."

The beautiful green eyes narrowed. "You have me on my knees. My heart is pounding. I'm practically sweating bullets. And you tell me this is all about a silly little stick, a tiny little jab?" he demanded.

"I told you it was silly."

"Of course it's silly. You're a grown woman, and not just any woman — you're one of the most important, intelligent, fearless women on the planet and you've let yourself get in a snit over this?" he demanded. "I feel like smacking you, woman. Good thing for you you're with child," he blustered.

"Yes, well, if I weren't 'with child' it wouldn't be an issue, would it? And I didn't get 'with child' by myself, so it's clearly your own fault if you've been the least bit put out by my attitude. Anyway, I suppose I feel better now that I've told you. It does seem rather childish in the grand scheme of things. It's not like I've never given blood before and I know it will be over quickly. I just can't help feeling a little yucky when I envision the needle sliding in my arm."

"Then I'll come with you. I'll distract you wonderfully and you'll never even know when it happens."

" No! You won't. Good heavens, you big bumbling bear, you'd throw everyone into such a state of nerves they'd probably have to have a half dozen tries at it," she said in alarm and thought with horror of the havoc he could wreak in the lab without even trying. But how could she keep him out — her knight in shining armor, the one who had promised on their wedding day that he would conquer worlds for her — now that she had confessed a need?

"Well, alright," he agreed, a bit too cheerfully. "If you're quite certain you don't need me. I could ring your mum for you, though."

"Not that either. I'll be fine," she said. But she was a trifle taken aback by the ease with which he had abandoned his protective role.

Rather remarkably, the Prime Minister happened under the care of the most skilled blood-collecting technician in the National Health Service and scarcely noticed what had taken place before the vials were filled and she was plastered up and on her way back to work. And while she had denied any concerns over the test results, she realized, once the babe inside her was pronounced perfect in every test-able way, that she had been anxious.

The baby's father, true to form, was both ecstatic in his reception of the good news concerning his offspring and increasingly condescending in his attitude toward the Prime Minister's "needle neurosis," as he took to describing it. Indeed, his supercilious attitude caused more than one tiff, which then had to be made up in satisfactory fashion.

Piers took it in good form, energized by the drama of it all.

Kate laid plans, fueled by the unsympathetic nature of it all.

"The boys are due a check-up before their school term begins. Can you set it up or shall I, because I'd like to be there but I'll really need you along, as well, to keep them corralled," Katherine announced as she scrolled through her planner on an early Saturday a month later. Her mornings had moved into a comfortable routine now that she and the bathroom were no longer intimate associates. And it was a good thing, because her baby bump was not only decidedly pronounced but very much an inhibiting factor in her efforts to mount the stairs swiftly.

"You do," he said turning toward her as she lay propped on several pillows into a semi-erect position. "My sons and I will bow to the will of the Prime Minister," Piers announced grandly. "Just try not to interfere with our 'Balamory ' time. We like to stay abreast, you know."

"Well, at least there's no question that you do," she conceded with a grin and a small shriek as he captured one of her own between his lips and flicked the nipple with his tongue. "You know we can't possibly finish this before the boys invade," she protested.

"But I don't plan to finish anything — at least not right away," he said and ministered to the other side in similar fashion. "I plan to follow you around lapping like a small puppy or kitten or deranged earl all day. It is my plan to gradually arouse you to such a peak of desire, my lady, that you will find it impossible to keep your hands off my body by day's end."

"And why should today be any different than …" but that was as far as she got because the bedroom door burst open and three miniature tornadoes hurled themselves toward the bed.

"I do have unfinished business with you, my lord," she promised over their wriggling assorted parts. "And I will see it through. You can count on that."

Two weeks later, the earl's family finally escaped the runny-nosed confines of the clinic reception area and followed a lab-coated medical professional down the hall to the largest treatment room.

"The boys are here for their school check-up, I see," the no-nonsense clinic nurse announced as she shuffled their charts. "They're due some sticks. I hope that won't be a problem," she said looking over her glasses in the Prime Minister's direction.

"Of course not. We understand the necessity perfectly," the boys' mother assured her.

"No, I mean they won't alarm each other over the jabs, will they? I don't want the first one to get the others in tears before their turn. Perhaps we should separate them just to keep down the drama."

"That won't be necessary. Their father is here and he will keep them perfectly in line, I assure you. No matter what effort is required."

The nurse looked less than convinced, but she went about her routine and, in short order, had checked off several items on the clipboard for each of the engaging moppets. The boys were poked and prodded through giggles by the paediatrician and were then marched down the hall to be measured and weighed. Returning to the treatment room, they aligned themselves on the far side of the examination table with their mother, while their father fidgeted and slouched against the wall across from them on his side of the room.

"We're all finished now except for the immunizations. So who's going first?" inquired Dr. Winifred Butler, the boys' no-nonsense paediatrician who reminded Piers of Margaret Thatcher for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Kate turned to her sons. They looked back at her with the only sober faces they had shown all day. The Crick family had discussed the necessity for the jabs — something none of the little ones could remember having experienced previously — and she had done her best to minimize the boys' concern over the procedure, while Piers assured them heartily that future Rugby stars could handle a tiny little prick with no problem whatsoever.

But in the actual moment, the trio clearly had misgivings.

Kate drew a deep breath. "Their father is going first," she announced firmly and gave her husband a look that dared him to object.

"But he's not due an immunization," the clearly confused nurse protested. "We don't do that for adults. Not unless they've never had them …" and she turned toward Piers with a question in her eyes.

"Oh, I have. I assure you I have. I am completely up to date on all jabs," he insisted. And he stood upright, bouncing up and down on his toes, and crossed his arms, unconsciously massaging the slope of his shoulders as he faced the three sets of narrowed feminine eyes appraising him with some suspicion at his protests and the three sets of little boy eyes observing his response with some trepidation as to their own fate.

Kate bit back a smile.

"But, darling, I'm sure Dr. Butler could draw up some sterile water and give you just a little stick. Just so the boys can see it really is no big deal. That is what you told them, isn't it?" she inquired with wide-eyed innocence.

"No. I mean yes. I mean … of course it's not a big deal. But they already know that, don't you, boys?" he asked. There was, however, a squeak in his voice and Kate noticed his face was slightly flushed as he sought a reprieve from his sons.

The silence was deafening.

Finally Michael broke it. "I'll be your brave boy, Mummy, if Daddy goes first," he said, but there was a mist of tears in his eyes. Not to be outdone, his brothers joined the chorus: "… if Daddy goes first."

"Well, that's settled then," Kate announced, daring the good doctor to argue with the nation's Prime Minister. Or her husband to wimp out in front of his sons.

There was a brief moment of confusion while Piers slipped off his jacket and turned to hang it on a hook next to the door, using the small space of time when his offspring could no longer see his face to take a deep breath and wipe away the fine film of sweat on his brow.

He failed to notice the conversation Kate appeared to be having with the paediatrician who was preparing her tools of the trade.

When he turned back, stiff upper lip firmly in place, Kate was back in her spot beside the boys across the exam table from him and Dr. Butler was approaching with too-rapid footsteps.

"I'm right-handed," he volunteered and was relieved there was no apparent quaver in his voice. "So you'll want my left arm."

"I think not," the doctor answered with an odd look in her eye. Before he had time to ponder what it might mean for his immediate future, however, he saw the nurse pick up a damp cotton ball in one hand and what he judged to be the medical community's largest syringe in the other and station herself at the doctor's side. The doctor who now gestured toward the exam table.

"Drop your pants and bend over," she ordered with all the authority of a drill sergeant accustomed to immediate response.

"Bend — what the … Kate!" he appealed desperately.

"The boys," she smiled back at him. "They're watching Daddy to see how brave you are. Don't let them down," she urged with a sweet tilt of her head toward the sober-faced triplets standing next to her.

"But …"

"That's it, exactly," Dr. Butler nodded.

"Do be a good boy for the sake of our boys," Kate urged with a fluttering of her eyelashes in their direction as though to impress upon him that he held the key to their future good health and upright development.

He gulped. He fumbled with his belt and his fingers were like sausages on the button and zipper of his jeans, but he finally succeeded in getting them open. With a muttered oath he shoved the denim down, neglecting to count the cost his irritation would afford him, and suffered the humiliation of having them slide down his long legs and pool around his booted ankles.

Worse was to come.

Dr. Butler received the syringe from the hand of her partner in pain and gestured, with an authority even he did not dare to disobey, toward the examination table that formed a barrier between him and his family. "If you'll be so good, sir …"

He fought back the urge to tell her where she could stick her needle for all eternity and bent forward over the table, bracing himself on bent elbows and offering his backside to her tender — he prayed — ministrations. The upturned faces of his sons were inches from his own and their eyes were locked into his. He attempted a nonchalant smile. Grimace more nearly described it.

Dr. Butler stepped behind him and lifted the hem of his shirt. "If you could lower your boxers a bit now, sir, on the right side."

He clenched his teeth and, reaching behind, eased the elastic down a conservative inch.

"I have seen bare bums before, sir, so I promise not to be shocked at the sight of yours — if I ever see it. Could you, perhaps, show me another six inches of flesh?"

He was about to stand up and stalk away from this whole farce, but as he shifted his feet, he remembered that would require bending over completely and hauling his jeans back up and that would mean offering the good doctor a fully displayed — and perhaps too tempting — backside, in addition to admitting to his sons that he was a wimpy "girlie" guy. So he shoved his underpants down as far as he could for good measure and dared Dr. Butler to insist on another adjustment to his clothing.

He felt the cold kiss of the damp cotton ball as the nurse stepped foward to do her duty and he sucked in his breath, squeezing his nether muscles tight in anticipation of the assault he knew was coming and could still recall, with vivid and mind-numbing clarity, from close to 40 years ago.

"If you'll relax, sir, it will be far more comfortable," the doctor assured him.

"Just get on with it," he barked.

"Very well," she agreed. And he saw her, out of the corner of his eye, raise the syringe to a height that suggested she was anticipating a tough target for her sharply pointed missile. His stomach did something strange.

Primed for the stick as well as he possibly could be, he felt a totally unexpected smack across his bum instead and yelped in protest, but before the sound was out of his mouth, the needle bit.

And he slid slowly, and with immense dignity, face down across the exam table, his last conscious thought to wonder why Kate was grinning.

Nurse Miller assured him he was only out for a moment, but he couldn't remember the needle being withdrawn from his aching bum or his clothing being put back in place or his body being laid out on the exam table. Yet all that had clearly happened and now, he realized groggily, his family was merrily preparing to go home, with Kate urging him to sit up and put on his jacket and the boys unwrapping their sugar-free lollipops and happily showing off the colorful plasters on their upper arms to each other.

He complied with a groan, immediately shifting all his weight to his left hip, and swung his legs toward the floor.

"I'm sorry, my love," he winced. "I guess the boys will put up quite a fuss now."

"Oh, no. It's all over for them. And not a peep from my fine, brave little men," she cooed in their direction.

"But how … when …?"

"While you were sort of moaning on the exam table, after we got you all stretched out and decent again. Dr. Butler mentioned to me when I called that she would be using the very newest needles on the boys. They're so short and tiny, you wouldn't believe it. They hardly noticed," she said airily.

"Then how come you made me …" he began with a bewildered look. And then a less than charitable assessment of his wife's role in his misery began to form in the back of his still cloudy brain.

"Somehow, my lord, it just seemed fitting, every time you nattered on about my needle neurosis in such 'sympathetic' tones. Let's just say I've had a perfectly lovely month — thinking about sticking it to an arse like you," she grinned with a devilish glint in her eye.


End file.
